


Disfavored

by distasty



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mild Blood, Tentaspy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21884500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distasty/pseuds/distasty
Summary: Spy is forced to make a difficult choice between two disagreeing team mates over something he utterly does not understand.
Relationships: Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	Disfavored

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leslie/ff2-radioactive-night](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Leslie%2Fff2-radioactive-night).



> This was a project done for the TF2 Secret Satan Gift exchange (2019) as a replacement gift for Leslie, (https://ff2-radioactive-night.tumblr.com)
> 
> The Prompt: RED Spy protecting BLU OctoSpy with RED Sniper from RED Medic.  
> I did my best to meet your wish.

It all started with a graceless fall to the ground when one of Spy's leather bottom shoes lost traction on something wet on the floor. A single unknowing step into an unknown thick slime, nearly invisible on the tiled floor of the hall to bring a proud man to the ground where sharp angled joints and bone struck the floor hard. He cursed when he shoved himself up, hand unwittingly catching more of the fluid and again his face nearly had an unforgiving encore with unforgiving ceramic. It was through pure spite and a little luck that he managed to catch himself.

He stood on unsteady feet, joints he had fallen on smarting as he straightened himself. The forearm and elbow of his expensive burgundy suit was saturated in viscous, nameless filth and without thinking, he ran deft fingers along fabric to try and scrape the bulk of it off himself. He swore when it only seemed to make it worse as it clung to fabric like stubborn grease. His fresh suit being utterly sullied wasn’t enough, as dragging his fingers through the muck had stirred up an unrelenting smell. He gagged as it hit him. It smelt overly organic and alive, as if he had dipped the whole of his arm in a green, fetid bog. The image brought a tickle of nausea before he shut his eyes tightly and swallowed the emotion down.

Perfect, he thought, thinking about having paid extra to have his suit meticulously pressed.

Properly enraged, eyes drifted to the floor and the long skidmark of transparent wet along the ground, his anger propelling him forward as he followed it hurriedly but carefully. Whoever had been brazen enough to have left a disgusting, stinking mess trailing along the main hall of RED base would be easy to find, and when he found them, they had better have a good answer for leaving a mess and ruining his tailored Italian suit. 

He traced along the trail until he heard raised voices ahead of himself. His movement slowed, as he realised the trail ended and the yelling began inside the infirmary. He smirked as he opened the door silently, and stepped in. Perhaps some one else had noticed the filth in the same manner as himself and came to Medic expressing similar grievances. He waltzed through the waiting area, still carefully following the slime and the source of the argument until it reached a slightly ajar door that lead into one of the operating theaters. He listened to heated German being countered by a deep rumbling growl that could have come from no one else but their resident Australian.

The idea of Sniper’s ungainly limbs struggling and failing before becoming acquainted with the ground like he had done made him laugh under his breath. Even though the thought of long limbs splayed and struggling becoming coated in filth was amusing, it really wasn’t fair. If the other man had gotten treated to the same mess, it would not really change the state of his shabby clothing, nor his typical vulgar odor.

He shook his head, mind going to Medic and how he would go about demanding the good doctor owed him dry cleaning for his ruined clothing. He took a deep breath, puffing himself up before he entered the room, the volume of angry voices not halting as he swung open the door violently and stepped inside.

He grimaced, a large waft of an overly offensive odor attacking his senses. It smelt of bogs, of midsummer fish markets and of low-tide all in one horrible, concentrated stench. His eyes crinkled and his body cringed, swearing he could taste the smell in his mouth for its potency. His eyes went to Sniper, noting his reddened face, and the tight cords of his neck as he screamed over angry German, and when they darted to look at Medic, he finally took notice that there was something else in the room. Had his body not been held in a sudden and overbearing shock as he failed to process what was in the room with them, he imagined he would have tried to cover his face to dull the stink and the sudden pulse of fear he felt. Instead, the cigarette in his mouth drooped before it outright fell from his lips. He tried to understand what he was seeing while horror kept him cemented in place.

Medic and Sniper continued to scream at one another, neither of them noticing Spy or his distress. The both of them and their racket registered to Spy like background static, far too entranced in the horrible abomination between the two feuding men.

It was beyond reason.

It was a writhing, oily mass of tentacles that idly curled and wrapped up on themselves, pulsing and jerking in stress as a few bled thick gushing torrents of blue. The movements smeared fluid sickly against itself, mixing it in a thick clear mucus that coated the entirety of the creature. Through all the pulsating movement, it was hard for eyes to drift to its center where the bare torso of a man lay, pale skin and wide eyed, as the mass of tentacles wrapped and compressed around his waist.

He had audibly gasped, taking far too long to recognize the face of his counterpart, or more accurately, his ex-counterpart. The man at the disgusting horror’s core was once BLU’s spy, whom he and the rest of his team believed to have retired as he had vanished from the battle-field. He immediately and unceremoniously was replaced by another and was quickly forgotten many months ago. What a surprise it was that he apparently hadn’t left, since here he was, with an abomination at his waist. An absent whisper in Spy’s mind told him there was no logical space in the wriggling mass for his legs, and immediately he felt ill at the thought that the man was being eaten slowly alive. The back of his throat felt sour as panic flooded, his hands shaking. 

Spy woke from his shock as Medic lunged and produced a violent flash of liquid red, followed by a loud, gritty scream from Sniper. Adrenaline already present from his fear ignited inside his body at the sight of the glistening saw teeth embedded in the thick, red cotton of Sniper’s shirt. The blade drew threads of thick dark blood, and the sight made him instinctively angry. He was not the kind of man to take sides, particularly in situations he did not understand, but he could not help it. Medic had drawn arms on an ally without a weapon and Spy could not stand for that.

Spy, already half mad on adrenaline and fear, was a construct of smooth and reflexive movements when he darted towards Medic’s outstretched arm. There was a genuine look of surprise on Medic’s reddened features as he pulled and twisted the outstretched finger that balanced the saw. The break was clean, sudden and shocking and immediately Medic released his weapon, reversing and cringing backwards, no doubt more bewildered at the attack than the pain itself.

There was a loud clang of steel on tile behind him, that old training kept Spy from glancing back at it. He positioned himself for response to retaliation. Disabling the main finger of Medic’s dominant hand gave him an edge, but he knew better than to let his guard down. After all, he knew the doctor was angry enough to be willing to hurt teammates.  
He watched Medic pop his finger back in place, angrily gritting his teeth before he picked up a smaller saw from a medical tray.

“You too?” Medic bitterly spat through ugly, curled lips. “You are here to defend this creature as well?!” He motioned to the creature on the table violently with the saw which had Spy tightening his stance, arms going up. The defensive posture made Medic sneer.  
“Fools. The both of you. You have no idea what the hell this damn thing is, do you?”

“IT’S A BLOODY PERSON!” Sniper crowed from behind Spy. “YOU’VE NO RIGHT TO HURT HIM!”

The room was silent before Medic filled the area with echoing, sarcastic laughter. 

“This…” Medic stated as he grabbed at a tentacle that resisted and twitched in his grip as he pulled at it, “...is no man.”

The saw swiped down through the wriggling mass in his hand and the flesh resisted the cut with the tenacity of soft gelatin. Spy was not prepared for the unearthly shriek that bellowed out from the man on the table. It was unlike any sound Spy had ever heard and made a crippling fear he did not know he had the capacity for paralyze him as he watched a mouth full of razor-edged teeth open wide as it cried. 

He could do nothing but stare as the other tentacles began to boil with rapid irritated movements which quickly became as horrible to look at as the noise sounded. The wounded limb crawled into the balled, coiling mass, spurting vibrant, thick blue as it fell and compressed between its other limbs. The whole sight made his stomach turn and his fists tremble. It lasted for too long, and abruptly ended when the man ran out of air to continue screaming. Spy watched fluttering, long slits form along strained ribs of his torso as he tried to suck in panicked, rapid breaths, staring at blue feathery tissue on each inhale. It hit him then that he had been wrong, and the knowledge made Spy’s fists drop.

"Impossible.” He said breathlessly, panic making him shudder. Everything on the table is was a part of the same entity. His mind told him this, but still stubbornly refused to accept the fact. “What is this? What is he?”

"Not human.” Medic smirked, shoulders shrugging as he looked to the writhing detached mass in his hand. “ Here, look for yourself."

Medic threw the still-moving hunk at the both of them, and Spy narrowly dodged it through his terror. He heard it behind him as it wettly slapped Sniper in the chest before it struck the floor and rolled between Spy's feet. His revulsion was automatic. He flinched backwards and away from the offending thing, nearly shouting when Sniper’s hands grabbed his shoulders to keep him from crashing into and toppling the both of them. 

Spy's mind screamed at him for taking his eyes off the immediate threat in the room but he found he couldn't help himself. His body forced him to stare at the squirming tendril, feeling sick as he watched it ooze thick blue syrup on the ground. The surface of it's flesh flashed spots of color in rapid pulses, slowly draining to white as it bled out and died.

He was hyperventilating, a fact Medic apparently found very humorous.

"You are terrified,” the German managed through laughter. “That settles it, yes? You must agree that this abomination is not worth defending and must stay here with me."

Spy tried to take another step back, and awkwardly, the hands clutching at his shoulders held him in place. He swallowed hard as the man behind him bent, talking low into his ear, an uncharacteristic pleading quality to Sniper’s rough voice.

"Please, Spook. You recognize him. I know you do, and you know what he’ll do to him. Please help me. He doesn't deserve this."

He didn't understand. He shouldn't be involved with this. 

"Don't be stupid, your revulsion doesn’t lie.” Medic spat, beginning to approach again. “I know you agree with me. Get out of the way, and let me get rid of Sniper. He will respawn."

Medic began to take heavy measured steps towards the both of them, saw glistening blue viscera from cutting the thing on the table. The weight of the revolver in Spy’s coat grew heavier as the sound of approaching jack boots came closer. He was stressed, and a foolish choice formed. He knew there would be repercussions, and on a selfish level, that what he was about to do was not the correct decision.

Like always, fingers touched steel and mahogany which allowed for muscle memory to guide his hand. He pulled out his pistol in a singular, solid movement, going so quick, he was sure Medic hadn’t noticed that he had drawn it until the shot was already fired and the bullet nested itself deeply within his head. Spy stared at the smoking pit in the center of the good doctor’s forehead as the body before him buckled. As his knees gave and he fell forward onto the ground, Spy hoped the moral high ground was worth Medic’s future ire.

“Thank you.”

It's all Spy got before his shoulders were released so the bushman could run towards what Spy could hardly bear to look upon. Tentacles immediately were on Sniper, gripping and pulling on his clothing and for a moment, Spy lifted the gun, anxious and unsure.

“I‘m so sorry, love. I’m so bloody sorry,” he repeated, as his hands rapidly worked at thick restraints Spy hadn’t noticed binding the creature before. 

He held the revolver level and steady, eyes darting frantically as the more restraints he removed, the more the slimy limbs rose up and slithered around Sniper. It wasn’t until timid, bare arms, and clawed hands went to grip and hold the back of Sniper’s shirt in a needy embrace, did the barrel of his gun finally lower.

“It was a mistake. We shouldn’t ‘ave involved ‘im. I’m sorry.” His voice is cracked, sounding near tears. It was intimate, something Spy shouldn’t have been seeing, which made Spy’s own presence in the room feel intrusive and uncomfortable.

Beyond the awkwardness of the tenderness, the fact that it was aimed at a monster disgusted Spy. It was revolting enough to simply be in the same room as it bled and stained over everything it touched and stunk up the room. But to be holding and...embracing something so foul? He turned his head away, physically shaking it.

Disgusting.

“I have helped you, but what good has it done? What are we supposed to do now, Bushman? We cannot linger here." He cast a side glance to the two of them, and held his breath as his eyes locked with the creature’s. It gave him a nasty glare as its head peeked over Sniper’s broad shoulder, its eyes narrowed in displeased slits. He swallowed and turned his head away to focus on Medic’s dead body. It immediately dawned on Spy that he had clearly made the wrong decision for a simple and fundamental reason. 

“Where would we possibly go hide something like this? Where could we possibly hide it?”

“ We need to take HIM back and out of here.”

Spy opened his mouth to protest, and his jaw shut when he thought back to the mess in the hallway. It had clearly been dragged to this room from somewhere inside. He ground his teeth in stress as he watched Sniper bend, tentacles unlacing and rewrapping to allow the Australian's arms underneath it. Spy uttered complaint in unadulterated distaste, his stomach making another hard upsetting pull as he watched the thing slide off the table, viscous fluid pulling away from stainless steel in thick dangling strings as the Australian stood, holding the damn monster like a bride. He watched both indigo gore and mucus drip off Sniper's forearms as he held it close to him like something precious. 

Jesus Christ, how vile.

Again, blue slitted eyes met his and stared distrustfully, and Spy moved clear of the pair for them to pass, looking back to Medic's corpse as it was picked up by re-spawn. They needed to hurry as he would undoubtably be returning with murder on his mind.

“We have to leave now.” He uttered, as the both of them picked up speed.

They left the room, both of them following along the sides of the thick trail of slime on the floor. Spy noticed the way they were headed and while it had clearly come from this direction, it did not make much sense to him. Internalized worry crested as he had no idea where or what could have possibly housed such a thing unseen and unknown so deep in the bowels of the base. As they went lower down, the halls quickly became thick and ugly with utilities. It took a lot of electricity to power their war and basic operations, he knew, gazing up to the thick mass of cables and bound wires that ran the span of the ceiling, crossing under huge, steel pipes every so often.

“Water pipes” whispered his mind which clicked everything into place.

He realised the answer to their dilemma and where they were undoubtedly heading. Under the base was a massive system of pipes that even he himself sometimes used to traverse to the enemy base in battle. With the majority of them being filled with foul, waist-deep water which spanned what felt like miles, it became quite obvious where the creature not only came from, but where they were heading.

He followed at a distance, reluctant, but committed and confident that the creature would be gone safely and shortly.

**Author's Note:**

> A special thank you to daoinhe for proof reading this <3


End file.
